Irrational
by Rabirhek
Summary: Reid has never had to deal with death before. Not in this way.


"Good morning, Dr. Reid. The usual?"

"Yes, please."

The young girl at the coffee shop throws her regular customer a curious look before busying herself with filling in a large cup with the newest brew of coffee. Dr. Reid's fingers drum absently on the counter as he waits for his usual "dose", as Helen calls it, and when he turns, she notes the prominent shadows under his red-dimmed eyes.

"Never a nice start to the day, is it?" she asks while putting the cap on the coffee, tilting her head towards the street where an intense downpour is washing the pavement. Dr. Reid doesn't seem to hear her attempt at small-talk.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," he mutters, takes the coffee, and turns to get in the line for the register without as much as a glance at her. Helen doesn't have time to ponder on it before she smiles at her next customer, and succeeds in small-talk this time. Dr. Reid is immediately out of her mind.

"Hey, Dr. Reid," greets George the cashier as he takes the money from Reid's slender fingers and pushes the button that opens the cash register's little drawer with a playful _trink_. Dr. Reid flashes him the most superficial smile ever. George is more perceptive than Helen; he does not attempt at small-talk. He simply hands him back the change, nods at his thanks, and proceeds with the next customer.

Dr. Reid readjusts his bag and opens his umbrella as he steps out of the shop. His feet are carrying him in his usual routine; he doesn't spare a thought to where to go. His mind is blank. His thoughts are not accustomed to getting tangled in a web, hitting so many dead ends and finding nothing; and that's what has been happening since yesterday afternoon.

One encounter with someone he had only met once, and his entire intellectual routine is off-road. Two words from a pair of unfamiliar lips.

He's dead.

Exhausted after hours of pondering, his thoughts have retreated into a state of silence, recoiling in defeat against the irrationality of the unexpected news. He watches the splashes of water stain his trousers as he steps into the puddles while crossing the street. The hard, gray surface of the asphalt is glistening. Little drops sprinkle all around the street as cars roll by, as people stroll around, as a stray dog shakes the rain from its fur. To Reid, it seems like a silent carnival of raindrops taking over the world.

He steps into the BAU Headquarters, and notices how sad the gentle glide of the raindrops is as they slid through the length of his closed umbrella. He takes a moment to watch the thin, reassuring stream of water run through the street from underneath the giant glass doors.

The security guard bids him good morning, along with a couple of agents he only knows by name. They sound metallic. Like every other noise in the entire building, today, even people sound metallic and cold. He listens to the aggressive _click _as a short, stout agent hits the 7th floor button. The closing of the elevator doors is invasive in his ears. The tamping of someone's foot on the floor. The swish of the newspaper someone's reading. The ringing of a cell-phone.

_Has it always been this loud?_

"Good morning, Spence," calls JJ brightly as Reid steps out of the elevator, and as he watches her walk away, he's surprised that even her voice seems to have lost some of its soft quality.

He almost wishes his mind isn't so silent, but thinking about it will disturb that very silence, and at the moment, he notices with a start, he doesn't actually want that.

"Good morning, sugar," Garcia calls from over the kitchenette as Reid walks into the bullpen area. "You want coff – oh, never mind, you already have a cup."

Reid looks down and blinks at the coffee in his hands as he walks through his desk. His fingers are still wrapped around the thin foam cup, but he can sense –only now- that the coffee's gone cold. He swallows, and there's no taste of the caffeine in his mouth.

With a sigh, he rests the cup onto the desk, and removes his scarf and coat, murmuring appropriate responses to Morgan and Emily's greetings.

"Everything all right, man?"

He looks up at Morgan. Morgan is leaning casually against his own desk, sipping from the cup in his hand. Reid thinks about the question. _Is everything all right?_ He can still hear every little sound and noise in the room, from the subtle screeching of a file-shelf's wheels to the scribbling of pen on paper. Everything is going around as usual. Who is to say that everything's not all right? Who is to say that the death of a single person would change anything in this building? Death, after all, is what these people live off of.

"Yeah," he replies shortly. He sits down and pulls the file on the top of the sack on his desk. On the first page is the photograph of a little, blond girl with freckles.

For no reason at all, he remembers Max Ryan. He remembers the case they had worked with him; he remembers the flight back to Virginia when Ryan told them about the old BAU team. He remembers the warm feeling of relaxing with the team after a case that had ended well; and all of a sudden, he feels the corners of his eyes prick.

He closes the file shut. He screws his eyes. His fingers curl themselves in fists.

It still doesn't make sense, and he's too weary to start thinking about it again.

He's saved by JJ calling the team for a briefing.

He doesn't notice the looks Morgan and Emily exchange as he walks before them into the room. He's glad for the distraction.

He slides into a seat, takes a file from JJ, and lets himself be. His mind is silent again. He randomly thinks of a strike.

It's only when a hard hand lands on his shoulder that his brain spurs into action again. Looking around, he notices that everyone's already at their feet, and they're all looking at him with confusion. It is Hotch's hand on his shoulder, and his eyes are dark under the deep frown.

"Is everything all right?" Hotch asks, and it's clear that he's not asking it for the first time. Reid swallows.

He looks around again, at the faces of each of his team members, and knows that he has to say it aloud, even though it still feels irrational. He has to say it because they have a right to know.

"I ran into Stephen Gideon yesterday," he says, not looking at anyone in the eyes. The pressure on his shoulder disappears. At the silence, he notices that an explanation is in order.

"Gideon's son."

Morgan and Prentiss exchange further looks. JJ's eyebrows rise. Rossi frowns. Reid can't see Hotch as he's still standing behind his chair.

"Oh," JJ says at last. "So how is he – Gideon, I mean."

Reid swallows. The room is tense, and he wonders why that is so. Why is it that Gideon's name doesn't have a better affect on them?

He swallows again, and forces the words out of his mouth.

"He's dead."

* * *

_A/N: Just a little something I wrote while taking a break from studying. May or may not have a tag to it later on. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
